


Once Upon A Dream

by Januarium



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Medieval Exhibitionism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Sexual Fantasy, Sleeptalking, Sleepy Sex, Tender Sex, i said what i said
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Januarium/pseuds/Januarium
Summary: “You were having a dream, it woke me up,” David says, a slight smirk he can’t help colouring his voice.“Mm,” Patrick says, arching his back and seeming to just then become aware of his hand at his crotch. “It was a good dream.”David can’t help himself, wants that languid softness all over him, so he pulls on Patrick’s far arm and rolls himself onto his back. “Tell me about it?”Patrick is so good at giving David what he wants and follows immediately, laying heavily on top of David in a way that makes him feel grounded andreal. David gets his arms around Patrick, stroking over his back and ass, before just holding him close.Patrick nuzzles in to kiss under David’s ear, that space he always returns to, before he whispers, “We were at a ball, like in a fairytale, and I was sucking your cock in front of everyone.”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 45
Kudos: 247





	Once Upon A Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [didipickles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/didipickles/gifts).



> It is didipickle's birthday! She said she wanted tender filth, dirty talk, and mild D/s, and I didn't really get that last one, but hopefully hit the first two. This was written while sleepy, for maximum half-awake ~vibes~, and hasn't been beta'd. Didi, I hope you enjoy. I have no explanation for where Patrick's fantasy comes from, but hopefully it works for you?

David wakes up in the middle of the night and doesn’t know why until he hears the noises coming from the other side of the bed. He turns around carefully, because he thinks Patrick’s still asleep, but he also thinks— _yes._

Patrick’s lying on his back with the covers thrown off. His eyes are closed, his head thrown back, with intense sleep-tinged arousal evident in how his rosy lips are pursed around his panting breaths, in the tension in his neck and the hint of colour splashed across his cheekbones— only visible thanks the the streak of moonlight that always shines in when they don’t manage to get the curtain perfectly straightened out to cover the whole window.

“Please, please, I'll be so good,” Patrick says, the words shockingly clear, even in his sleep-rough voice.

The first time David heard Patrick talk in his sleep—the memorable phrase ‘Don’t butter the elephant’—David had assumed it was some sort of joke, until the next morning when Patrick hadn’t broken and admitted it the way he always does with teasing. David doesn’t hear it often, especially as it’s not that common for him to be awake when Patrick’s asleep, but he treasures each little glimpse into his husband’s subconscious mind. It’s never been anything like this before.

Patrick whines and David watches the way his hand rubs the tented crotch of his pyjama pants. He’s not even coordinated enough to be gripping, instead is slowly humping against that broad palm and _fuck_ , David needs to wake him up. Because this gorgeous unfiltered moment is incredible to see, but David needs to kiss his husband.

He strokes a hand carefully down Patrick’s arm, trying to bring him up gently. His eyes almost flicker, but don’t open, so David says “Patrick, honey, wake up.”

It works, and thankfully doesn’t jolt him. Instead Patrick’s eyes flutter open and when he sees David’s face he gasps and smiles, like whatever was in his dream couldn’t live up to the real thing. “David,” he says, the word sounding precious in his mouth. “David, kiss me.”

Much as he wants to dive in forcefully, he doesn’t want to break this delicate mood, so David leans in carefully to capture Patrick’s mouth. Patrick is a focused, steady kisser, apart from when he’s half-asleep like this, when his mouth goes lazy and wanton and—sloppy. It’s so lush and delicious, ramping up David’s arousal dizzyingly, despite being such a simple kiss.

When David pulls back a bit, because he just can’t get enough of _looking_ at Patrick, hates that he can’t do that at the same time as kissing him, Patrick makes a pleading noise. He blinks a few times and seems to become more aware of the real world. “Wait, why are we awake?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, more floaty and wondering.

“You were having a dream, it woke me up,” David says, a slight smirk he can’t help colouring his voice.

“Mm,” Patrick says, arching his back and seeming to just then become aware of his hand at his crotch. “It was a good dream.”

David can’t help himself, wants that languid softness all over him, so he pulls on Patrick’s far arm and rolls himself onto his back. “Tell me about it?”

Patrick is so good at giving David what he wants and follows immediately, laying heavily on top of David in a way that makes him feel grounded and _real_. David gets his arms around Patrick, stroking over his back and ass, before just holding him close.

Patrick nuzzles in to kiss under David’s ear, that space he always returns to, before he whispers, “We were at a ball, like in a fairytale, and I was sucking your cock in front of everyone.”

David can’t help the way his hips buck at that, nothing he could ever have expected from his sensible, straight-forward spouse. Patrick has shared fantasies before, but nothing so... whimsically filthy. He’s not unimaginative when it comes to sex, but his creativity tends to be more along the lines of ‘What if I fucked you with a dildo while we sixty-nine?’, rather than something like this. “Oh?”

Patrick chuckles at that strangled syllable of response, rocks his hips lazily into David’s and _God_ , why hasn't David got them naked yet.

“You were the Prince and I had to prove to the court that I was worthy to be yours. You let me get to my knees and get my mouth on your cock to prove myself.” Patrick’s voice turns a little shy by the end, but he still follows it up with a bite to David’s ear lobe, hips steadily rolling all the while.

“Oh you would be so good, Patrick. Suck my cock so well everyone would know that I need you to be mine.” David feels like he’s drowning in lust, but he needs more skin, tries to drag Patrick’s shirt up with one hand and pants down with another.

Patrick helps and then pulls at David’s clothes—it’s so quick it almost feels like a dream itself, how they’re suddenly naked and wrapped together. Patrick kisses David’s mouth with a lush urgency, bodies pressed together for as much contact as possible. Eventually, though, it’s both too much and not enough, so David gets his hand between them, feeling the wet pool of pre-come they have dripped and spreading it across both their cocks.

“Patrick—Patrick,” he says, turning his head from Patrick’s mouth because he feels like he _has_ to say this, it’s so important. “Patrick, love how wet you get for me. Love you.”

Patrick presses his smile into David’s cheek so hard he can feel it. “David, you’re so, so good. Love you so much.”

David’s hand is wrapped around both their cocks and and Patrick is thrusting steadily, sliding his dick against David’s in the most delicious way. It feels unimaginable that David could ever have something so beautiful and sexy and all his own but he does—he has this experience, this life, this man. Suddenly, David’s on the edge of coming, and it should be silly, to get there so fast. They’re married, have been together for years, and it’s some frotting in the middle of the night—it’s nothing special, except that every time is something special.

“You’re so good, Patrick, I’m going to come, the whole court is going to know you made me come.” It should feel silly, playing up the filthy fairytale Patrick’s sleeping mind drew up, but it doesn’t. It feels joyous and special.

“Oh, yes, please, David. Want you to come for me, let them all know I’m yours,” Patrick says in reply and his thrusts are speeding up, he’s tensing in the way he does when he starts to get close. “Come for me, my Prince,” he says and that’s what gets David there.

He can’t even be embarrassed because it’s incredible, he feels it everywhere, and Patrick has pulled back just a bit so he can watch, an awed expression on his face. David’s hand isn’t even doing anything now, but apparently it’s enough as Patrick’s thrusts into it, against David’s spent cock that is just reaching the point of over-stimulation, and comes. David does his best to grip him as he rides it out, his heart pounding at the way Patrick looks, painted by moonlight and bliss.

When it’s over, Patrick collapses on top of David with a laugh. “Wow.”

“Mmhm,” David agrees. “Didn’t know you had that little medieval exhibitionism fantasy locked away in there.”

“Neither did I,” Patrick says, sounding so _happy_ about it. Like he can’t imagine anything more wonderful than this, sharing a fantasy his waking mind might never have come up with. Patrick kisses David firmly and grips him in a tight hug before letting go to roll onto his back on his side of of the bed. “You woke me up, you have to get us something to clean up with.”

“Ugh!” David says, playing up his horror to make Patrick grin. “I think you’ll find _you_ woke _me_ up first.”

Patrick shifts his arm to press against David’s, like he needs them to be touching still. “Mm, but I’m opening the store tomorrow.”

David has to give him that one. If Patrick had woken David up for sex in the middle of the night when _David_ was going to open he would definitely not be convinced into clean up duty. “It just doesn’t seem like the sort of task a Prince should be doing,” he says haughtily, even as he’s getting up.

“I guess that makes me very lucky,” Patrick says, so sincere it makes David’s teeth ache as he opens the door to their en suite, “to have found a Prince as generous as you.”

David waits for the water in the sink to hit the right temperature and thinks probably he’s the lucky one here, but he’s not going to argue it. Maybe they both are.


End file.
